We are the hollow men We are the stuffed men Leaning together Headpiece filled with straw. Alas! Our dried voices, when We whisper together Are quiet and meaningless As wind in dry grass Or rats' feet over broken glass In our dry cellar
Shape without form, shade without colour, Paralysed force, gesture without motion;
Those who have crossed With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom Remember us -- if at all -- not as lost Violent souls, but only As the hollow men The stuffed men.
II
Eyes I dare not meet in dreams In death's dream kingdom These do not appear: There, the eyes are Sunlight on a broken column There, is a tree swinging And voices are In the wind's singing More distant and more solemn Than a fading star.
Let me be no nearer In death's dream kingdom Let me also wear Such deliberate disguises Rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves In a field Behaving as the wind behaves No nearer --
Not that final meeting In the twilight kingdom
III
This is the dead land This is cactus land Here the stone images Are raised, here they receive The supplication of a dead man's hand Under the twinkle of a fading star.
Is it like this In death's other kingdom Waking alone At the hour when we are Trembling with tenderness Lips that would kiss Form prayers to broken stone.
IV
The eyes are not here There are no eyes here In this valley of dying stars In this hollow valley This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms
In this last of meeting places We grope together And avoid speech Gathered on this beach of the tumid river
Sightless, unless The eyes reappear As the perpetual star Multifoliate rose Of death's twilight kingdom The hope only Of empty men.
V
Here we go round the prickly pear Prickly pear prickly pear Here we go round the prickly pear At five o'clock in the morning.
Between the idea And the reality Between the motion And the act Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom
Between the conception And the creation Between the emotion And the response Falls the Shadow
Life is very long
Between the desire And the spasm Between the potency And the existence Between the essence And the descent Falls the Shadow For Thine is the Kingdom
For Thine is Life is For Thine is the
This is the way the world ends This is the way the world ends This is the way the world ends Not with a bang but a whimper.
I
We are the hollow men We are the stuffed men Leaning together Headpiece filled with straw. Alas! Our dried voices, when We whisper together Are quiet and meaningless As wind in dry grass Or rats' feet over broken glass In our dry cellar
Shape without form, shade without colour, Paralysed force, gesture without motion;
Those who have crossed With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom Remember us -- if at all -- not as lost Violent souls, but only As the hollow men The stuffed men.
II
Eyes I dare not meet in dreams In death's dream kingdom These do not appear: There, the eyes are Sunlight on a broken column There, is a tree swinging And voices are In the wind's singing More distant and more solemn Than a fading star.
Let me be no nearer In death's dream kingdom Let me also wear Such deliberate disguises Rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves In a field Behaving as the wind behaves No nearer --
Not that final meeting In the twilight kingdom
III
This is the dead land This is cactus land Here the stone images Are raised, here they receive The supplication of a dead man's hand Under the twinkle of a fading star.
Is it like this In death's other kingdom Waking alone At the hour when we are Trembling with tenderness Lips that would kiss Form prayers to broken stone.
IV
The eyes are not here There are no eyes here In this valley of dying stars In this hollow valley This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms
In this last of meeting places We grope together And avoid speech Gathered on this beach of the tumid river
Sightless, unless The eyes reappear As the perpetual star Multifoliate rose Of death's twilight kingdom The hope only Of empty men.
V
Here we go round the prickly pear Prickly pear prickly pear Here we go round the prickly pear At five o'clock in the morning.
Between the idea And the reality Between the motion And the act Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom
Between the conception And the creation Between the emotion And the response Falls the Shadow
Life is very long
Between the desire And the spasm Between the potency And the existence Between the essence And the descent Falls the Shadow For Thine is the Kingdom
For Thine is Life is For Thine is the
This is the way the world ends This is the way the world ends This is the way the world ends Not with a bang but a whimper.
i am heading back to canuckistan tomorrow just four days this time but in august i will be gone more than i am home i am ready for that; i am anticipating it
more things will cause pain than bring joy thus finding something that through the pain brings joy is ideal so i work too much and constantly it is like being slightly upset continually thanks j.d. i wish you had written more
the ability to suffer and endure, that's nobility, friend. the ability to suffer and endure for an idea, a feeling, a way, that's art, my friend. the ability to suffer and endure when love fails, that's hell, old friend.
things are changing all over the place. i'm away more than i am home. i am happy about it. i am also intimidated by the prospect. living on the road was easy; it was a more desperate time. this isn't like that, but it isn't wholly different. i'm just learning how to die and passing the time with a sardonic grin.
if you think it is sad to think this way, then i am sorry for you. you've never seen the beauty i see everywhere. you might some day; you probably won't. i know may great people and have been known by them. i've lived well to this point.
into different days i plod, not new, just different. these are the twilight hours. these are the hours between enlightenment and suffering. i'm not worried though. no one reads this anyhow.
Oh lord, it’s so bad it’s so bad when you’re living in the devil’s playground Oh lord, it’s so bad it’s so bad when you’re living in the devil’s playground up and down bad and good nobody’s living like the way they should anymore, anymore up an down bad and good nobody’s living like the way they should anymore there’s gotta be more Lend me a helping hand ‘cause I’ve been treating your heaven like a one night stand I gotta pray more I gotta pray more There’s some man that is starting a war and I feel like we’re knocking on heaven’s door You better let me in I wanna get in gram rabbit 'devil's playground' from music to start a cult to
so very true i suppose and the aphorism of the merry pranksters comes to mine 'transcend the bullshit' and tom waits is in the back singing 'how's it going to end?' we're all dancing circles in the dusty floors through many nights and mornings that are too quick to come and here we go one more cabaret
